The FA18E Super Hornet
by Agent Sh1fty
Summary: A Navy FA-18E pilot's account of an Alpha Strike by his carrier in a mythical war with China. This is my first attempt at this, please leave some comments


There is nothing to compare to the art of combat flying. Of course the adventure, the romance, the danger, and the skill it requires can be found in many other places, yet only combat flying gives the correct mixture of each to keep one coming back for more. I've been a military aviator for a long time now, so maybe I've forgotten how easy civilian flying is, how thrilling it was to fly a Boeing triple 7 day in and day out to exotic locals like Hicksville, Backwardsland or Yuckamuck, Nowhere. Of course, the F/A-18E isn't gonna be humping cargo or passengers to the next state anytime soon, unless you count PGMs and air to air missiles as cargo. It might be more dangerous, but there are advantages to combat flying.  
At thirty four, I really am getting to old for this work, but as long as they give me the keys I'll take the jet out for a spin. My name is Six Shooter, and I've been flying the Super Hornet for Uncle Sam for about four years now. Six Shooter, there is a long story behind it, but for now all you need to know is that's my call sign. My real name is Pete Hayrack, Commander, United States Navy, member VFA-115 "Eagles", Stationed aboard the USS Abraham Lincoln ect. ect. ect. . . . the whole history of my life is too much to get into now.  
Combat flying – nothing like it. Like right now, a full up Alpha Strike on the Panama Canal. We built the damn thing a hundred years ago for the Navy, now the Navy gets to blow it up. That's government work for ya.  
Of course, Carrier Air Wing 14 isn't doing this as a favor; it has more to do with the Sino-American war that "hasn't occurred" if you ask the politicians on either side. I'd like them to explain that to the guys and gals who aren't coming home from this deployment. It's not for me to decide, though I guess after this strike they'll have to come clean about it. Kinda hard to say there is no war when the locks of the canal are in ruins and the Chink bases are burning, all while Navy jets circle above it.  
Then again, they never admitted fully to the huge air battles outside San Diego, off the coast of Washington state, and near Pearl Harbor – and a lot of it was visible from land.  
Especially that one J-10 I sent to the great rice paddy in the sky.  
It crashed in San Diego – right on I-5 close to downtown, near Balboa Park and not far from the zoo. I've got a copy of the front page of the Union-Tribune framed in my quarters – and on it is the full page picture of a burning J-10 lying in the middle of the highway. Maybe the slant-eye thought he could crash land on the pavement.  
He got the crash part right, I guess. Next to it, framed, is another picture, this one from the New York Times, of an F/A-18E circling over the crash sight. The caption says "An unknown American Navy pilot circles his victory." The unknown pilot is me. So the military is fighting the war, the media is covering the war, the public knows about the war, and the politicians don't know anything.  
Typical.  
Still feet wet. We're over Panama Bay now – skimming the water at . . . an altitude that I don't want to think about. Maybe we'll avoid the radar for a few more seconds this way. Maybe not. Being in the first part of the package makes avoiding detection more likely, though I really don't want to think about what will happen if they know we're coming. I'm loaded for bear, a fat fighter bomber moving fast on the deck. Until I release my bomb load, then I'm free to mix it up with the air to air crowd – two AIM- 9X and four AIM-120Cs will see to that – as will a full load of cannon ammo.  
The multi-mission display is flashing – two bandits, high, the E-2C has them pegged as J-11s, the Chinese knock off of the Su-27 Flanker. Time for the fighter cover to earn its paycheck. VFA-14, the F/A-18Es of the "Tophatters" got that mission today. The J-11s haven't seen anything by the time they fall out of the sky. Good thing too – I can see the coast now. The radar warning receiver is incessant now, the Chinese SAM and air search batteries are lighting up, look'n for what ever killed the two luckless J-11s.  
Too bad for them. VAQ-139 was waiting for that. The brand-new EF/A- 18G Growlers of the electronic attack squadron go to work, jamming the radar, then relieving themselves of the AGM-88 HARM missiles they were carrying for just such an occasion. Their sister squadrons, VAQ-138, from CAW-9 on the USS John C. Stennis, and VAQ-136 from CAW-5 on the USS Ronald Reagan which also have Alpha strikes going in with us, let loose with their own ECM and missiles. On the Atlantic side of Panama, an Air Force strike package of F-16s, F-35As, F-15Es, and F/A-22s is moving in now as well, supported by EF/A-22Bs and E-3Cs. Our main strike element is behind the F/A-18Es and the Growlers – F-35Bs loaded down for the primary strike. They're carrying a full load, both internal and wing stores. This drops their stealthy characteristics, but they shouldn't need it too much. If I can do my job, and the Air Force B-2Cs and F-117Bs do theirs too. The Air Force supposedly had a "pre-strike" of the really stealthy jets going in a few minutes before us. Their job is the air defenses, radar sites, command bunkers, power plants, but I don't believe it, after all, Panama is lit up like a Christmas tree right now . . . . Oh. I guess the wing wipers can do their job. All the lights just went out – and so did the big radar sets. A few large explosions are visible in the distance. Some look to be at the big Chinese air base near Panama city, others in the city itself, others . . . randomly here and there. Time On Target: 3 min. My target is secondary airfield near Vacamonte. It's not that big, but a few hardened shelters are holding a number of J-10s – big, nasty fighters that could cause some damage if they got into the main strike elements. My wingman, Saint, and I are here to make sure it doesn't happen.  
I can see the airfield – and the J-10s taxiing out of their shelter.  
We're right on time.  
I sweep over the main runway, the two CBU-59 Rockeye IIs dropping off my wings. The CBU-59 really is a remarkable weapon – it's actually 717 little bombs packed into one nice tight package. As the Rockeye IIs dropped from the plane with a pair of closely placed little thumps, I envisioned the casings splitting open as the bomb fell towards the ground. The sub-munitions were spread over a wide area, a cloud of invisible death falling through the night.  
Right onto the lead pair of J-10s and the only runway at the small airfield.  
Boom.  
I saw it in my rear view mirrors as I rolled away from the target, dodging the light fire from a few outdated AA guns. The pair of SAM sites that had protected the airbase were gone – the fixed FM-90 and the mobile SA-17 Grizzly had been taken out by either the EW jets or the pre-strike, I couldn't remember which. All I knew was they weren't there anymore. That made the next bank towards the target easier. I readied two more CBU-59s, and made a shallow dive towards my next target – the row of shelters along the one side of the base. Saint had made a pass at the other end of the base, and now the communications center was burning fiercely.  
I concentrated on my own attack.  
The flight crews knew they were stuck, the runway pockmarked in front of them, the lead quartet? (must have caught the second pair of jets with the Rockeyes too, I guess) was burning at the end of the runway and in the middle of the taxiway. With the taxiway out of commission, the J-10s didn't even have space for an emergency take off.  
I could see the men scrambling away from their jets, the ground crews and pilots running in every direction as I fell upon them. I let loose my final pair of cluster bombs into the center of the mass of parked aircraft – the Super Hornet jumped again when relieved of the bombs' masses. This time, I looked over my shoulder as I banked hard right, and caught a glimpse of the parking ramp disappearing into a massive explosion as the bomblets detonated. Pieces of aircraft and men flew everywhere, the rolling red-orange fireball rose into the sky, and large secondary explosions jolted the air around me. An entire fighter was catapulted off the ground in a way the designers never intended, flipping end over end and landing where a couple of the untouched aircraft were parked, setting them aflame and causing even more destruction.  
Saint's second pass saw him loose a single bomb again – a 2000 pound laser guided GBU-24. Keeping his fighter-bomber a safe distance away, the seeker head had a firm lock on the laser beam it would ride to the target. The laser designator built into the nose of his aircraft was designating the command center building. Actually the command bunker – the building was a squat cement structure that was partially buried in an attempt to protect it.  
An unsuccessful attempt; the 2000lb bomb plowed through the reinforced concrete and detonated inside, destroying the bunker along with everyone and everything inside.  
My second pass was similar – I locked my laser designator on the largest of the hardened cement bunkers and the only one that had not opened yet. The main air vent was magnified on the multi-functioned display, highlighted by the fires from the burning aircraft on the tarmac. I kept the cross hairs steady as the bomb tracked in and . . .  
The ground seemed to bubble upwards as 2000lbs of high explosive detonated, sending the two ton blast doors flying outwards, followed by a huge ball of flame. The J-10s and J-11s that had been undergoing maintenance inside blasted out as burning wreckage, along with the specialized equipment needed to keep the aircraft in flying condition. Any aircraft that survived the night, or was only lightly damaged, would not be able to fly very soon, if ever.  
I pulled away in a hard turn and ascended.  
Saint made his third pass as I leveled out parallel to the runway at about 5,000 feet. The shelters were gone, taken out with my last run, so Saint moved onto his secondary target – the visiting parking ramp on the other side of the runway. A large A-50 Mainstay AEW aircraft was parked there, along with a couple of Y-7 transports and a few Z-9 helicopters.  
Saint let loose his final pair of 2000lbs along the tarmac, catching the A-50 with a bomb through the center of the fuselage. The large AEW aircraft just disappeared, the radar dome being flung off like a giant Frisbee as the plane collapsed in on itself. The Y-7s had their wings snapped off and were on their sides, burning, while the bomb that had landed in the middle of the helicopter park had caused the small, French designed choppers to just disappear into another massive fireball.  
I rolled in on the final area of the base that needed to be taken out – the fuel depot.  
The tanks were semi-buried, large mounds of dirt piled around them and berms of soil surrounding the complex in case of an explosion.  
Like the one I'm about to cause.  
I swooped on to the tank farm like an owl catching a large rat in the open. My final weapon was another GBU-24. It dropped away, and I kept the laser dot of the bomb designator squarely on the largest fuel tank in the middle of the compound. The F/A-18E lurching upwards again as it was relieved of its final burden, and I pulled sharply upwards to avoid the blast.  
A rippling series of explosions told me the tank farm was no more. I rolled inverted as I came over the top of the loop I was making, and saw the devastation.  
The tank farm was gone. The secondary explosions were still lighting up the night, and in their light I could see large, rolling black clouds of thick smoke boiling up from the inferno below. I rolled right side up again, and Saint joined up on my right wing.  
"Lightning, this is Gunsmoke flight, Target 26, the airfield at Vacamonte neutralized. Request further instructions."  
"Roger Gunsmoke – You are cleared out of hostile airspace in corridor three."  
"Copy that Lightning. RTB corridor three." Well, our mission was over for now, thank god. The fuel indicator said I'd have to hit the Texaco on the way home, so would Saint in all probability. Then a nice early morning trap and hit the rack for a few hours of shut eye . . . . .  
"Gunsmoke! Gunsmoke! Pop up target! We have a pair of J-10s closing on us! They must've snuck out with some of our egressing jets. You're the closest jets we can call up – Take vector 186 IMMEDIATELY, they'll be in missile range in one minute!" I horsed the jet around in a tight turn, Saint firmly on my wing. Pushing the throttle to full military power, we rocketed our Super Hornets towards the endangered E-2C Hawkeye AEW&C plane. I brought up my radar to standby, powering up for the engagement to come, excitement in my veins – two aircraft, just one would give me five kills, enough to become what every pilot was craving: Ace status!!  
"Get them off us Saint!! Thirty seconds!!" The Hawkeye pilot was wrenching the aging turbo prop into aerobatics I never thought possible with that plane. I could hear the Gs stressing the controller's voice as the plane twisted and dived. I flipped the LPI radar to full power. No time for stealth or tact - we had to knock down those fighters!  
Two aircraft, as promised. They also were blind to what was coming for them.  
"I got lead" I called to Saint  
"Roger – Two is mine!" He replied.  
"Radar lock! Weapons free – engaging! FOX ONE! FOX ONE! Hornet 307 away with two!" I squeezed the trigger twice on the control stick.  
"FOX ONE! FOX ONE! Hornet 309 away with two!" Saint echoed a heartbeat after me.  
The port outer AIM-120C dropped off the airframe, followed a few seconds later by its opposite number on the other side, and I slammed my eyes shut to avoid the glare of the white hot missile exhaust.  
I snapped them open a second later, in time to catch the lead J-10 exploding as one of my missiles found it. That's it – I'm an ace! I thought, then, a second later, the other J-10 detonated as Saint found his third kill.  
ALRIGHT!  
Saint and I formed up on the E-2, which waggled its wings in thanks. Taking vectors to the F/A-18F that drew tanker duty tonight, Saint and I banked away from the Hawkeye and back out to sea.  
As I said – combat flying is an art form. 


End file.
